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by melodiousb



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Established Relationship, Florida Panthers, M/M, New York City, New York Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10638351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodiousb/pseuds/melodiousb
Summary: Keith hasn’t thought a lot about that night in the last couple of years. He’s more likely to dwell on stuff that happened later, after Kevin meant more to him, after they both stopped pretending it was an accident that Keith still hadn’t moved out. But Kevin sent him a draft of his Players’ Tribune piece last week, and it’s been on his mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Kevin Hayes' [Players' Tribune piece](https://www.theplayerstribune.com/kevin-hayes-new-york-rangers-playoffs/).
> 
> Thanks to Pasha for being my audience while I wrote this.

Keith remembers his first night in New York. Going from the hugeness of MSG—somehow even bigger than it felt as a visitor—to a crowded restaurant, and a crowd of celebrities who treated them like they were the exciting ones. It wasn’t like that in Arizona. It probably isn’t like that anywhere but New York.

He remembers Kevin being an island of familiarity in an ocean of chaos, and he remembers how his ears felt when they stepped out of the restaurant into the late night quiet.

“Is this what New York is like?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Kevin, and then he laughed. “No, that’s never—that was new.”

He smiled at Keith, and Keith smiled back, and reviewed the last couple of years of their friendship, and went for it. “Come back to my hotel room,” he said. “I can pick up my stuff, and then we’ll go to yours.”

Kevin turned sharply to look at him, and Keith looked back, open. He meant it.

“Yeah,” said Kevin. “Sounds good.”

Keith didn’t have a lot at the hotel, so Kevin stood and watched him as he shoved everything in his bag. Keith remembers looking up and seeing Kevin standing in a shadowy corner, watching him, and thinking that it wasn’t the right place to start something.

Then Kevin took him home. Keith has three vivid sense memories of that night. First, the chill that went up his spine when he stepped onto the ice at MSG. Second, his ears struggling with the sudden quiet when they stepped out onto Gansevoort Street. And third, the feel of the nape of Kevin’s neck against his lips when Keith came up behind him while he was locking the door.

Keith hasn’t thought a lot about that night in the last couple of years. He’s more likely to dwell on stuff that happened later, after Kevin meant more to him, after they both stopped pretending it was an accident that Keith still hadn’t moved out. But Kevin sent him a draft of his Players’ Tribune piece last week, and it’s been on his mind.

Flying into New York alone is different—no comfortable bustle of teammates, none of the urgency of that trip from Phoenix two years ago. The end of his season always makes Keith feel like he’s been cut adrift, and navigating the airport alone makes it worse, more surreal. There’s nothing he needs to do and no one expecting him

Kevin’s piece was published while Keith was in the air, so he rereads it in the taxi on the way into Manhattan. He thinks it’s good, but he hasn’t got anything like enough distance to judge. He tries to think about other parts of it, but he keeps coming back to the first bit, and remembering details—shaking hands with Bradley Cooper, and the way the air had changed when he’d invited himself to Kevin’s, and his first glimpse of what he didn’t know then would be home for the next year and a half. He’d thought, that night, that what he was starting with Kevin wouldn’t last, and what he was starting with the Rangers would. If he only gets one, he’s glad he was wrong.

When he lets himself into—Kevin’s apartment (that’s how he thinks of it now, a beat, and then “Kevin’s apartment”) it _smells_ right. He gets the same flash of familiarity when he gets back to his place in Florida after a roadtrip, but it doesn’t make him feel warm there, and he doesn’t want to to stretch the moment out for as long as he can.

Kevin’s left him a note, sort of. There’s an avocado sitting on the counter with a crooked smiley face drawn on it in gold sharpie. When Keith picks it up, there’s a post-it underneath, but all it’s got on it is a heart. Keith smiles and shakes his head and sends Kevin a text with just those two emojis—an avocado and a heart.

Kevin calls right away. “You’re home,” he says, and the sound of his voice settles Keith a little bit more.

“Home,” Keith agrees, more because it will make Kevin happy than because he’s sure it’s still true. “What are you doing?”

“Lunch,” says Kevin, which explains the background noise. It gets louder for a moment, and then fades away, and Keith pictures Kevin finding a quiet spot, or standing outside. 

“Me and Jimmy and Brady,” Kevin continues. “Remember that place by the hotel, with the shrimp thing you liked? And—trying to nap after, I guess.”

“Yeah,” says Keith. He knows what that’s like, so he tells Kevin about the dog on the plane that definitely wasn’t a real service dog, and the traffic on the way into the city, and the light Kevin left on in the bathroom. Then he listens while Kevin complains about Jimmy texting him from the next seat on the plane, and how he’s going to have to buy socks because he forgot to bring any. Keith is about to hang up when Kevin says, “I haven’t done this without you before.”

There are a few different things Keith could say, and after a moment he goes with, “you’re not doing it without me now. You still have me.”

He spends the next few days setting in. He orders from a place Kevin doesn’t like on Wednesday, and watches Kevin’s game as he eats. He feels weird about it somehow, so after he’s done with dinner he switches to the radio and listens to the game while he looks out at the city and the darkening sky. He stays up for Kevin’s quick, elated call after the game, and then goes to bed. Kevin changed the sheets before he left, and Keith wishes he hadn’t.

Thursday he goes for an early run. The guy at the bodega down the street remembers him, and makes him the kind of breakfast sandwich Keith will only eat in the first few weeks of the offseason. And when he gets back to—Kevin’s apartment, it feels more like home than it did when he left. And it is home, even if he doesn’t live here anymore. It _is_.

He watches the whole game Friday night, even though it’s frustrating sometimes, watching a team he’s played with and knowing he would do things differently than the guys on the ice. Kevin’s call that night is short and dejected, and Keith has a brief, disloyal thought that if he’s not in the playoffs he shouldn’t have to feel playoff losses like this.

He wakes up when Kevin gets into bed with him, late in the night or early in the morning. “Hey,” he says, in a sleepy rasp.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” says Kevin.

“Shouldn’t have brought cold feet to bed,” Keith says, vaguely, but he pulls Kevin closer with an arm around his waist. Kevin presses he face into Keith’s neck, fists his hands in his t-shirt.

“It’s okay, baby,” Keith mumbles, sleepily. “One and one. One win at home and you’re leading again.” He plants a kiss somewhere near Kevin’s ear and strokes his back.

Kevin snorts lightly, just the suggestion of a laugh. “It’s not—tonight sucked, but I wasn’t…” He lifts his head, and Keith can see that he’s smiling. “I just missed you.”

“Oh,” says Keith, and smiles back.

Kevin leans in for a lingering kiss, and Keith smiles wider against his mouth and then pushes him away. “It’s late,” he says. “Show me how much you missed me in the morning.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, and lets his head fall back against the pillow. 

Keith is still only a few steps from sleep, but he keeps his eyes open for a minute longer, studying Kevin’s familiar profile. This wasn’t really home before. It is now.


End file.
